Clockwork Angel
by rokubi-raijuu
Summary: An original Pokemon gijinka story set in the fictional steampunk world of Hisshin, where the majority human population has chosen to exterminate the gijinka minority under the name of revolution. Contains mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Rai back with another story! 8D And this time it'll actually be a chapter story ~ ! This is a Pokemon gijinka novel I've gotten a bit of inspiration for, and I decided to post it here in hopes of getting feedback as I go.**

**It is rated for mature themes that will be littered throughout the story, so just be aware of that as you read. Even though it is Pokemon-based, the subject matter can get pretty dark.**

**On that note, I hope you enjoy it. |D**

**Please R&R if you're feeling generous!**

xxx

Things were entirely different from how they had been. A little over two years ago, Hisshin was a world of peace, where corruption and cruelty seemed ages away. Things had happened so quickly that it was hard to believe people who were living now had been alive to see flowers bloom under benevolent skies, and had known days when they weren't afraid to walk out of their doors for fear of being found by the SeekCop Pokemon, creatures pushed to such limits by the bad humans that they no longer knew reason.

Now, everything had changed. It had begun slowly, a revolution promised by Rathar Coles, where the humans would be able to claim their rightful place above the ones who didn't belong. It was bigotry of the worst kind – the intolerable kind. The kind where minds were so filled with hatred and a refusal to even try to understand, the kind where hearts were so poisoned by prejudice and stereotype that any hint of harmony seemed unrecognizable. No one was sure where it had come from, and why, especially in a world where things seemed to be going so well.

Were humans so easily swayed, they had to wonder. Did their opinions so easily change? Had hostilities been secretly brewing beneath the surface for so long that all it had taken was one man with some incendiary words to ignite the match that would become a wildfire? For all those involved, the emotional impact of being betrayed by the neighbors they had lived beside was almost worse than the agony of backbreaking labor.

And nowhere was this tension more noticeable than the human capital of Sarindad, a city that had once served as home for humans and gijinkas alike. But ostracism had turned to quarantine and then genocide, and now dust had settled over the paths where peace had once walked. Far below the bright, greying skies, dull voices rang out against the edges of proud brass buildings that stood in condescending shadows against the final rays of a setting sun. Within the shadows, a line of people staggered along, clothes torn, some faces bloodied, all with eyes downcast. Their wrists and ankles were chained together so that they stood not three feet from the people in front and behind them, and the very chains rattled together jarringly with every halting step. None of the captured, ranging from children who were no older than seven, to adults who were in their fifties and sixties, dared speak a single muffled word to each other when even a wrong glance could bring the cutting whip on their already abused backs.

Third from the front of the line, a young boy who looked to be about sixteen shuffled with the rest, head held obediently downward. His white undershirt was ripped and caked through with dust, and the rest of his attire was in a similar state. His clothing was so stained with dirt and blood that it barely gave him away as an Eevee anymore; in fact, if not for the pair of soft brown ears that extended from the disheveled mess of pale chocolate hair and the giveaway fluff of a tail, he might even pass as human. One of his eyes was glued shut with dried blood, and his dark skin was marred with the angry welts of injury wherever it showed through his clothes.

However, like many of his companions on the chain, pain was far from his mind now. He had come to terms with what he was headed for, and hope no longer dared to rest on his heart. He would be brought to the holding cells, and then shipped in a tightly packed train compartment for some stiflingly uncomfortable hours to the centers outside of Sarindad, from where no gijinkas had ever returned. Such was the hunted life of the gijinka while Rathor Coles was in command of the Spearhead, and he had heard enough rumors about the torment of the humanizing centers to know that once he was there, it didn't matter what he thought. He wasn't getting out again.

A sudden jerk on the chains around his wrists and ankles told him that somewhere behind him, a poor victim had stumbled and lost their footing. Things happened very quickly – at the same moment that the two Mightyena began snarling and frothing at the helpless Delcatty child, the two humans who had been flanking the line began yelling at the rest of the gijinka to keep moving. Whips cracked through the air like lightning bolts and Jules instinctively made himself as small as he could, flattening his ears against his head and trying not to tremble. He had to be strong, he kept telling himself, and yet he couldn't be. Not like this, when the screaming behind him told him that the Mightyena had begun digging their fangs into the Delcatty boy's arms to drag him up between the cries of the other gijinkas as the cutting whips found their marks.

There was a brief lull as a voice rang out behind him, and Jules dared turn to see, out of the corner of his eye, a Pidgeotto gijinka who had been in line in front of the Delcatty fan out her wings in front of the harassed boy and scream for their tormentors to stop. Jules only saw her heroic attempt for a moment before he was roughly shoved back into his place by one of the humans, but something about the fire in her eyes had startled him. She reminded him so much of his older sister in that moment that his heart skipped a beat.

But it all passed very soon, anyway. After a brief cry of "stop it! You're hurting him!" she was silenced very efficiently in the quiet that followed the sharp _bang_ of a gun. Jules felt a cold dread slip into his bones as fear, gripping and icy, laced its fingers around his heart. _How could they…?_ But there was no point wondering. Their progress was delayed for only several seconds as the humans quietly unlinked the Pidgeotto's now lifeless body from the line and cast her to the side, before connecting the chains again and giving the gruff order to continue walking.

In the stunned silence that followed, Jules swore he could hear his own heartbeat, heavy and paralyzed, with the Delcatty child's stifled sobs in the background. The child's wounds from the Mightyena would not be treated, and he would likely die from infection later.

Oz had told him to be brave before they had been separated, but Jules was beginning to lose faith in those words. _What use is there in bravery,_ he questioned his brother silently, _when the brave just end up dying in vain? Will Sira just end up like the Pidgeotto gijinka – the brave don't have a place here. _Those eyes, that determination to protect and die even for a stranger who was being wronged, they were just a one-way ticket to death here.

Jules could only wish his brother was here to answer his questions for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**rai is here with the second chapter. c:**

**i've discovered that I can't really work without a deadline, so i have a friend of mine to tell me when to crank these things out. xD**

**as always, R&R please ~ !**

**xxx**

He woke to the feeling of falling.

In reality, it turned out to just be the push of a hand on his shoulder, gentle but insistent, with that press of urgency that everyone had here.

"Wake up," a hushed voice breathed in his ear, and he was shaken again. "Wake up." Blearily, Jules opened his eyes and grumbled unintelligibly. His gaze took a moment to focus, but then he found himself staring at the bright, flashing eyes of Roman, the Zebstrika gijinka who had been sharing a cell with him. Here, gijinka were held in pairs in cells that were hardly five paces wide, furnished with nothing more than two straw mats out of which the occasional bug would crawl. Not only were these mats thin and caked with dirt, but they were also scratchy and therefore much more uncomfortable than just sleeping on the unforgiving stone floor.

"What's happening?" Jules mumbled, still disoriented.

No sooner had Roman squeaked out "the picking," than did a loud bang on the bars of their cell jolt Jules fully from his stupor. Here, any loud noise could be cause for alarm, and all the detained had learned to fear sudden sounds. A gunshot, a scream – even just someone talking too loudly would be reason enough for a beating or even death.

The looming shadow of a prison guard unhooked the lock to the door and yanked Roman up by his darkly-striped arm before doing the same to Jules, dragging them both out into the filthy hallway lighting that did nothing but illuminate the hatred in the guard's eyes.

Fear rooted itself deep in Jules' chest – the picking was something he had gotten used to hearing about during the sparse four days he had been held in the prison. This was his first time actually being part of one, but if the look on Roman's suddenly pale face had anything to say about it, the stories lived up to their credit. He dared not speak to the Zebstrika on their way out, pushed and yanked, but was left only with the horrors of his own imagination.

Since he had been brought here, he hadn't seen the light of day. His home had been invaded as evening had approached, and the sunlight had been a stranger to him since then so that now, when he was brutally thrown into the concrete-enclosed courtyard that stood in the center of the encampment, it was a struggle not to yelp as light, harsh and blinding, pierced his eyes. He stumbled over a tuft of yellow grass and nearly tripped, but righted himself as quickly as he could – his ribs still ached from that rough kick he had received the day before from a guard for standing too close to the bars of his cell, and he had no wish to repeat that feeling.

The cracked ground was dotted with patches of long-dried blood, but the very sight of it made his throat clench. So it was true, then. As he hurried to follow the example of the other gijinka and line up across the width of the courtyard, he had plenty of time to think, but he tried his hardest not to. It was the suspense that was the worst, Roman had told him. When you _know_ you're going to be killed, it's not as bad because at some point you resign yourself to it and stop dreading death. But the cruelty of the picking lay in the hope that the humans let you have. Only some would be taken out to die, and the rest would be spared. Because there was always the chance that you would live, all gijinka clung to that chance.

"It would be better if they just took us all out and massacred us," Roman had spat bitterly. "That would be merciful."

Jules had decided not to point out that if the humans were merciful, this wouldn't be happening to begin with. This was hardly the time or place to be making catty comments.

It was best to clear your mind, Roman had said, when everyone starts lining up. Just don't think about anything. It's more humane that way.

Within seconds, the rest of the gijinka had been filed out and stood beside each other, shuffling silently. Some of the younger children shed tears and sniffled, but terror struck them otherwise quiet. Not a single man, woman, or child dared to gaze at the guards as they paced before the line, afraid that even the slightest twitch would single them out for execution. No one really knew why this happened, because everyone was aware that those who survived the picking just went on to the humanizing facilities anyway and died there, sometimes in even worse ways. Perhaps it was to make an example, or keep the facilities from being too overpopulated. The more likely possibility was just that the humans had little better to do in the prison.

Jules held his breath. He couldn't help it; to him, it felt like if he so much as breathed wrong, he would be picked out. In reality, it didn't matter at all. But he focused in on the feeling of his heartbeat, strong and hard against his ribcage as the seconds ticked by, and watched the gleaming leather of the guards' boots pass him. It took a moment for him to comprehend it, and it wasn't until he watched a Swanna gijinka just three people down from him step forward that he realized how truly terrible this was.

She moved forward with the grace of dancing river water, sure in her step and her shoulders pulled back proudly. She met the eyes of her executioner without a faltering blink, and Jules had to watch her with admiration. How could she not be afraid? When he had been younger, he had dreamed of being a martyr too, a hero. Someone who wasn't afraid to sacrifice themselves, but when things like this actually happened… it wasn't just about dreams anymore. People were actually dying, and none of it was as glorious as they had made it out to be.

He just wanted things to go back to how they had been before. He wanted to be back in the house he shared with his siblings in Dreridge, go back to the life he had found so mundane and boring.

Beside the Swanna who had been chosen was a Swellow, a close friend perhaps, or something more? His eyes were red with tears and his throat was choked with cries of anguish he couldn't make. A pang of sympathy shot through the Eevee for this stranger who had to watch his friend be killed in front of him. Jules was glad to see that Roman hadn't been picked either. Even though he hardly knew the Zebstrika, Roman was all that Jules knew in this prison, and somehow it seemed of utmost importance that his company continue to remain there, an anchor.

Finally, the guards returned to their places, standing in a parallel line across from the gijinkas about ten paces away. In the stifling mid-afternoon heat, they lifted their guns, and the click-and-lock echoed off the walls of the penitentiary. There was no hesitation, which in some ways was better, but the bullets sounded like claps of thunder in Jules' ears. Most of the gijinka who hadn't been selected still flinched and closed their eyes, each afraid of being shot anyway, either intentionally or not.

Somewhere down the line, there was a scream and then stifled sobbing. All the victims of the picking died without making a sound.

Jules stood frozen where he was, breath caught in his windpipe. He couldn't breathe, but could only stare at the limp body of the Swanna not two steps away from him. Blood spread out beneath her, eating up each grain of dirt in its crimson anger, dyeing her clothing almost black where it touched her.

_That could've been me._

A whistle was blown, and the other gijinka in the line solemnly turned to file back into the dirty cell tunnels. Jules followed suit, nearly tripping over himself in his stunned horror. As they began to shuffle back, he passed the Swanna's body, and a wave of sickness came over him. How many had died like this? The number must be in the thousands by now, or more. Complete anonymity. He stole a glance at one of the human guards and couldn't find a drop of remorse in those eyes of iron.

The walk back to his cell felt like it took a century, while also having the sensation of passing in the blink of an eye. The bars shut with a resounding bang, and Jules could do nothing but sink to the ground, the image of the Swanna's body still frozen behind his eyes.

When he felt hands on his arms, he instinctively jerked away. He couldn't feel anything except how clammy the hands of the dead must be. Only when he turned around to see Roman's subdued gaze did he realize he was shaking like a leaf in a whirlwind. "First time seeing that is always the worst. It gets better after your second or third time." The statement was delivered straightly but somberly, with a tone that was neither cynical nor sympathetic but merely a portrayal of fact.

"When are w-we taken away? To… To the faci… facili…"

"No one knows," Roman replied, saving Jules from having to form words past his suddenly heavy tongue. "Could be tomorrow; could be next month. Whenever they run out of space for us."

At this point, anything seemed better than having to witness another picking. It was then that Jules realized that the feeling eating at him was guilt: guilt for living when seven people who had been just like him had died for no reason. It was an unreasonable feeling, he knew. He couldn't have saved them. And yet; "I can't… Why…?"

"Don't feel bad," Roman read his mind; he must have also known how it felt to watch for the first time. "This is gonna sound cruel, but you just have to forget about it. There's nothing you can do anymore."

Easier said than done. Jules merely drew his knees weakly up to his chest and wrapped his thin arms around his legs. He wanted to hide from the world and maybe go to sleep, but he had a feeling that his sleep wouldn't even be restful anymore, not after that Swanna.

After a moment or two more, he heard Roman let out a slow sigh before shifting a little bit towards him. "Let's talk about something else. Having time to just think is bad for mental health around here. Where're you from? What's your family like?"

_Family._

It seemed like something from another lifetime. How long had it been since he had seen his siblings? Two months? Two years? (Four days.) Did he really want to think about them right now? What if they were dead already? Just the thought of never being able to see them again brought tears to his eyes and an empty ache to his chest. But he knew Roman was right: if he wanted to maintain any sort of sanity, it was best to think about something other than death.

"Well… I have seven siblings… and we live in Dreridge. You know, on the Asala Sea."


End file.
